


Welcome Home, Theseus.

by Zyzzyva



Series: And the universe said, "You have played the game well." [DSMP Fics] [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: & help schlatt through his addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jschlatt-centric (Video Blogging RPF), accidental dadschlatt, i just want an au where the schlatt administration stick together, schlatt accidentally adopts half his cabinet, tubbo isn’t a spy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28804587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zyzzyva/pseuds/Zyzzyva
Summary: Schlatt is their president, and they will stay by his side.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Floris | Fundy & Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Floris | Fundy & Jschlatt, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Series: And the universe said, "You have played the game well." [DSMP Fics] [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207772
Comments: 54
Kudos: 387





	1. This is a Politics Game. [Quackity]

**Author's Note:**

> (frothing at the mouth) pre-festival schlatt administration....
> 
> this fic will be 4 chapters in total, each focusing on a specific character's relationship w/ schlatt! chap. 1 is quackity, chap. 2 will be fundy, then tubbo, then one focusing on schlatt himself, each told through their pov. i hope you stick around!
> 
> please bear in mind i have never personally gone through any sort of addiction, so if you feel i’m misrepresenting it at any time _please_ feel free to correct me, i don’t want to get things wrong. i’m basing schlatt’s illness off of my own experiences, but when it comes to struggles w/ alcohol i am completely out of my depth. of course, please don’t read if you’re sensitive to this stuff. specific tws will be at the top of every chapter, please stay safe <3.
> 
> these vignettes are not in order! i decided to group them by characters instead of timeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws for this chapter: yelling, emeto, rather graphic descriptions of alcohol withdrawal.

“Is this going to be a continuous issue?”

It’s a spur of the moment decision. Quackity isn’t even sure he’s going to say anything until it’s out of his mouth, but the small amount of regret isn’t enough to stop him. He clears his throat, stands his ground, and continues with, “The whole drinking thing, I mean.”

Schlatt looks up at him from his desk, swirling the drink in his glass. His eyes are glassy. “What are you talking about?”

Quackity sighs. He grabs the bottle from the desk, and Schlatt scrambles to sit up, already reaching. “This has gotta stop.”

“The fuck do you mean?” Schlatt asks. Quackity can see the slight panic in his eyes, drawn to the bottle in Quackity’s grasp.

“This isn’t healthy!” Quackity exclaims, voice already raising. Why can’t Schlatt see? “You can’t hardly get through a day without being drunk off your ass, and I’m sick of it! Everyone here is. You need to stop.”

Schlatt seems to stop for a moment before his temper rises and he stands, wavering on his feet. “It’s not any of your fucking business how I enjoy my time, Quackity. Give me the fucking bottle and get out if you want any of this shit to get done.” He gestures widely at the mess of paperwork on the desk.

“No!” Quackity yells. He knows their voices must be loud enough to be heard through the walls of the office, and part of him tells him to quiet down, to maintain some sort of their privacy, but he can’t stop, not now. “This is fucking ridiculous. I’ll take this, and then you can get some fucking work done for once.”

Schlatt’s eyes flick quickly between the bottle and his face. His hands are shaking, and whether it’s in anger or because of how fucking _drunk_ he is, it doesn’t really matter.

“Fine. Fucking fine. Shut the fuck up and get out of my face.” He sits back down and rustles through the papers.

And Quackity leaves. He throws the bottle in the nearest trash can he can find. Tubbo catches his eye, and he inclines his head. Tubbo’s face pinches, and he moves on.

Quackity swallows. The shine is wearing off, and all that’s left is a fumbling drunk. He goes home.

* * *

It’s the next morning, and Quackity knows it’s gonna be a bad day.

Fundy is leaving the White House when he enters, and his expression is tight. When he catches Quackity’s eyes he shakes his head, just barely.

It’s only confirmed when he gets inside and can hear yelling. Unsurprisingly, it comes from Schlatt’s office, and with a preparatory sigh he makes his way towards the room. When he reaches the doorway, he’s faced with Schlatt standing over Tubbo.

Schlatt is by no means a tall man, but he holds power over a room like no one else Quackity has ever met, especially when he’s angry. And he is _livid_.

“Schlatt? Tubbo? What’s going on?” He asks, hoping to draw attention away from Tubbo, who’s wincing away from where Schlatt’s in his face.

“Did you have something to do with this?” Schlatt asks, immediately distracted. He’s shaking like a leaf, and Quackity doesn’t think it’s just anger. He storms towards Quackity and grabs his arm.

He’s sweating. Quackity gently pries his fingers from his arm. “Schlatt? What are you fucking talking about?”

“The fucking drinks!” Schlatt yells, like that explains anything. He starts pacing. “You two- you were plotting this- do you know how fucking expensive that shit was? Fucking idiots!”

Oh. He glances towards Tubbo, who nods slightly. They’d been trying for weeks to get to Schlatt’s desk to throw away his stash of bottles, each attempt with minimal success. Seems it had finally paid off. Quackity gives him a small smile in thanks, but he can only tear his eyes from the president for a second.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he murmurs, half to himself and half to the others in the room. “Listen, just- just sit down, okay?”

Schlatt is still trembling, but after a second he does what he asks and sits at his desk. He puts his face in his hands.

“Are you okay?” Tubbo asks, looking worried.

“Fucking obviously not!” Schlatt yells, slamming a hand on his desk. When Tubbo flinches, he pulls back, running his hands through his hair. “I’m- I can’t fucking handle this, I- I need a fucking drink, you don’t understand.”

Quackity frowns, catching Tubbo’s eye. They’re in for a long day.

Eventually they’re able to convince Schlatt to take the day off. He looks like shit. Soon after the shaking starts, he puts his head down on his desk and refuses to move. Quackity does what he does best and starts talking and doesn’t stop, sharing everything and anything he can think of, doing his absolute best to distract. Tubbo bustles around, organizing the piles of paperwork. He brings glasses upon glasses of water, as well as a trash can when the vomiting starts. They help him peel off his blazer and tie, helping him get as comfortable as he can through the pain.

Schlatt, surprisingly, doesn’t complain for too long. Quackity’s not sure if it’s because he realizes what they’re trying to do or if it’s only because he feels too sick to continue, but either way it’s welcome. He just listens to Quackity talk and lets him rub his back.

Tubbo places the last paper on a pile and sighs, leaning back on his chair. “Done! Hopefully that’ll make it easier for you once you feel better.”

“Thanks, Tubbo,” Quackity says, for too many reasons to name. Tubbo brightens and grins.

“Thanks,” comes a mutter from where Schlatt still has his face in his arms. He sits up and starts sipping on a glass of water. Quackity pulls back a bit, both to give him room and in case he’s sick again.

Tubbo’s face pinches. “Are you feeling a bit better?”

“I feel like I’m fucking dying,” Schlatt deadpans, looking it. “I hate this.”

“Alcohol withdrawal isn’t a fucking joke, Schlatt,” Quackity exclaims, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk.

“I’m not a goddamn alcoholic,” he mutters, chugging the rest of the glass. Quackity scoffs.

“In what world? This is the most sober I’ve seen you in fucking months and you look dead!”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, rubbing his face.

“No, I think this is a good time to have this conversation,” Tubbo says placatingly, leaning forward in his chair. “Schlatt, what’s led to this? Is it just ‘cause of stress?”

Schlatt shrugs, then winces it when it exacerbates his head. “Been like this for a while, but being fucking president hasn’t helped anything.”

Quackity nods. “It was still a bit concerning when we first met.”

Schlatt grimaces. “Yeah, whatever. It was still fun, then.”

“Why’d you start?” Tubbo asks.

“None of your business,” he mutters. He reaches for the empty glass, as if expecting it to be full of something else, but retracts his hand when he remembers. Tubbo notices and goes to fill it again. Schlatt nods to him.

He sighs, long and breathy. “Listen, I know this isn’t working. I know that. But I don’t know how… I…”

He wrings his hands. For once, he actually looks out of his element. Quackity grabs his hand.

“I’ll do my best to help, but you’ve got to work with me, ok?”

A small smile. “Fine. But if you’re nice to me for even a couple more minutes I might have to punch you in the face.”

* * *

It only gets a little easier. Schlatt and Quackity have always been a volatile pair, always bickering and teasing even when they first met. It only ever started to hurt after the inauguration.

After all, they spend the most time together. And that is what leads to tonight’s discovery.

They aren’t doing much of anything. For once they’ve escaped the stuffy office and they’re walking around Manburg under the guise of keeping track of the goings-on, but it’s more to get Schlatt out of the White House more than anything.

Schlatt is more lucid than he’s been since Quackity promised to help him, just a little tipsy, and he’s in a strangely bright mood. It reminds him of when they first met and Quackity still looked up to him as a distant figure.

He’s telling him stories of previous servers, and Quackity is laughing, and he looks away for a moment.

And Schlatt screams.

It’s more of a pained yelp than anything, but it has Quackity turning around, startled and concerned. Schlatt is on the ground, holding his leg. His eyes are shut in pain, and breathes leave in his mouth in pained gasps.

Quackity sits beside him, hand hesitantly placed on his shoulder. When Schlatt doesn’t pull away he leans closer.

“Are you ok?” He asks worriedly. “What happened?”

“Just fell,” he murmurs, opening his eyes slowly. “It just happens sometimes. My legs give out, or some shit.”

Quackity balks. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Piss off,” Schlatt snaps, then shakes his head. “Sorry. But it’s fine, it’s happened forever.”

“Do you know why?” Quackity asks. He settles beside him, accepting that this is going to be a conversation.

Schlatt sighs. He fidgets with his fingers, a nervous motion he does when he’s upset. Eventually he says, “I’ve been sick for a long time.”

Quackity opens his mouth to ask more, but he’s gotten Schlatt started, now. He stares at the grass as he talks.

“I don’t really know what it is. Everything just hurts. It’s something to do with the whole hybrid thing, some fuckery in the genes.” He sighs. “Has a lot to do with the… drinking shit.”

Quackity blinks. Jokes about the man being sick weren’t uncommon, but he’d only ever considered it in reference to his drinking, never once thinking there might be something else contributing.

It must be showing on his face because Schlatt slaps the back of his head playfully. “Don’t look so upset, it’s not your body failing or whatever the fuck.”

Quackity can’t help but chuckle and stands, helping Schlatt to his feet. He stumbles a bit but keeps his balance.

“How many more serious conversations are we gonna have to have before I can start joking about being a stripper again?” He asks, hooking his arm in Schlatt’s. The man laughs so hard he almost falls over again, and he knows they’re gonna be ok.

* * *

Quackity prefers when they can yell. He prefers when he can be angry, when Schlatt has the energy to scream, when they can pretend there’s still anything there.

It’s better than this. Schlatt hasn’t moved in approximately five minutes, and Quackity knows because he can’t help but keep checking the clock. He was slumped over his desk when Quackity came in, one empty bottle and one still half full tipped over next to him.

Quackity _wants_ to yell. He _wants_ to be able to tell him to fuck off, even if it hurts the other. He doesn’t like this.

Schlatt is a loud man. He used to be more, back when they first met. He commanded a room with a bellowing laugh and cutting remarks and Quackity wanted to be him. He's way too quiet, now.

Quackity wants to shout at him, make him confront how he’s ruined his country and his life and everyone else’s, but he can’t, because Schlatt is passed out at his desk and can’t form a sentence when he isn’t.

So he throws away the bottles even if he wants to down what’s left himself and cleans up the desk and runs a hand through his fiancé’s sweaty hair and watches the clock and does not cry.

Fuck, he knows this isn’t easy, he knows that Schlatt has been _trying_ lately, and it shows in the way that they haven’t _had_ to yell lately, but it only it makes this so much more devastating.

Schlatt stirs. He blinks blearily but doesn’t make any moves to raise his head from the desk. His voice is slurred when he says Quackity’s name, barely intelligible, and Quackity shushes him, just continuing to run a hand through his hair.

“Just rest, you’ll feel like shit if you try to sober up now,” he says quietly. Schlatt’s eyes slide closed again, and Quackity watches him sleep for a second longer.

He sighs. He wants to shout, and he wants to make Schlatt hurt for all the hurt he’s caused him, but he won’t. Because they made a promise, and he will follow through.

* * *

Quackity leans over the railing of the balcony of the White House, staring out at the sky. The stars look especially pretty tonight, and he says as much to the man next to him.

Schlatt snorts. Quackity wait for him to make a joke, but he only nods his head in agreement.

Quackity watches him. He’s got a small smile on his face, and he looks relaxed in a way Quackity can rarely associate with him, in a way that isn’t either carefully calculated or messy. His jacket and tie are undone, left in his office when Quackity dragged him up here.

He looks… happy.

“What are you staring at?” He asks, grinning.

Quackity chuckles and leans against his side, only barely. “You.”

A snort. “Can’t keep your mind off me, huh?”

He elbows him gently. “You know it.” He pulls away, looks at him a bit more seriously. “I’m proud of you.”

Schlatt smiles, but it turns a bit sadder. “Quackity, things aren’t exactly being handled well.”

“That’s just as much Wilbur’s fault,” he says, voice hardening. “Let me be happy for you, alright?”

Schlatt holds up his hands. His tone turns a bit more genuine. “I appreciate it. I do. Thank you.”

Quackity pulls him into a one-armed hug, much as Schlatt squawks indignantly. “Hell yeah, that’s the spirit! Politics can wait ‘til morning, ok?”

“If only,” Schlatt says wistfully, prying himself away and chuckling. He smoothes down his shirt, though it doesn’t do much.

They stand in silence for a bit, both unsure what to say. Eventually, Schlatt clears his throat, coughing a bit. He says,

“Do you regret running alongside me?”

Quackity bites his lip, thinking. “In the beginning? Yeah.”

Schlatt nods, looking resigned.

“But now? No, I don’t.” Schlatt looks to him, surprised.

“I haven’t done a good job,” he starts, but Quackity cuts him off.

“I know. But… I don’t think any of us could really do any better. We’re all kinds of fucked up. Who would you have preferred? Wilbur? Fundy? Much as I love the kid, I think we all know that wouldn’t have gone well. I doubt I coulda done any better than you. None of this shit was ever gonna go well.” He sighs. “But you’re trying really fucking hard, and we can all see that. We can still fix it.”

Schlatt stares at him for a minute, then turns to the country in front of them. He sighs. “The stars _are_ fucking pretty tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! 
> 
> next chapter: fundy!
> 
> (p.s.: you should check out my other fics ;).)


	2. Why Does One Man Need All That Power? [Fundy]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws for this chapter: bit of violence, nothing graphic (it’s a memory, & doesn’t take place in this chapter). this chapter also talks about relations between hybrids & humans being very negative.

Fundy is cleaning up spilled liquor when he hears it behind him. It’s just drunken mumbling, and usually he’d tune it out because it’s more likely abuse than anything, but something tells him to pay attention.

“I wish I wasn’t a hybrid.” It’s spoken quietly, and Fundy turns to see Schlatt with his face in his arms on his desk. Something about it hurts, feels familiar.

The words hit home, and he can’t help but ask, “Why?”

“I wanted to be-- well, at least partially…” He stops for a moment while his drunken brain pieces together the words and ends with, “Hybrids never get to be in power. I wanted to prove them wrong.”

Fundy has heard the whispers. While he was working with Wilbur, people spoke poorly of him, same as when Schlatt was campaigning. Even more so, now, what with the recent mistakes. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, when Schlatt laughs, low and broken, sounding more like a sob than anything. He raises his head and it turns into a coughing fit, Fundy rushing to pat his back.

After it calms, he looks Fundy dead in the eyes and says, “I’ve only made it worse.”

Fundy sighs, looking away. He’s not sure what to say, because it’s not like he’s wrong. Relations have only managed to get worse since Schlatt’s come into power, serving to prove that hybrids are as vicious as they’ve always claimed. But Schlatt’s on a roll, it seems, and he continues.

“You know my right horn’s fake?”

He didn’t.

“What happened?” He asks quietly.

“Held me down and broke it, thought they could cure me of being a hybrid or some shit.” Schlatt huffs.

As Fundy leans closer, if he squints he can see the line where the real ends and the fake begins.

“Did it hurt?” He breathes. Schlatt hacks out a laugh.

“Like nothing else. Thought I was going to die.” He doesn’t elaborate more than that. Fundy watches his hands open and close a few times on his desk, and knows he wants to reach for a drink. He starts talking, whatever pops into his head to distract him.

“People think I’m shifty, since I’m a fox and all. They don’t think I’m trustworthy.” It’s not the right thing to say. Schlatt smiles, though it’s more of a sneer.

“I’m sorry I think you’re going to betray me, then.”

Fundy blinks. He didn’t expect it outright. He knew it was likely Schlatt knew something, but all the same it’s a shock. He opens his mouth to defend himself, say anything, but Schlatt cuts him off, waving a hand.

“Don’t bother. I don’t fucking give a shit, it’s not like any of it matters now.”

Something about that pulls at Fundy, makes him more upset than it should.

“You still have time to turn around public opinion, you know. Three of the members of the cabinet being hybrids? That means a lot to people. Irregardless of whether you’re doing a good job, right? So much of the SMP is hybrids, and it means something to them that you’re here.”

Schlatt’s staring at nothing, but for once he seems to be lost in memories and not just out of it. He smiles.

“The SMP’s so much better than other worlds I’ve been to. It’s probably because of you, actually.”

“Huh?” He can’t quite fathom that.

“Something Wilbur got right, I think. His son is a fox, so he made sure you were protected.”

He nods, slowly. “Maybe. I think I did some of it myself.”

Schlatt laughs. “Wouldn’t surprise me. You’re persistent when you want to be.”

That night, when Fundy makes his way back to his room, a Spy’s Diary weighs heavier in his pocket than ever. He doesn’t write down their conversation.

* * *

“So what’s with the daddy issues?” Schlatt asks one day while they’re filing papers. Fundy isn’t sure what he thought being part of a presidential administration would be like, but he hadn’t thought it would involve quite this much paperwork. When Wilbur had been in charge, it had been more about surviving than anything else, at least.

“Wh-what?” He stutters, brain malfunctioning for a few solid seconds. Schlatt barks a laugh.

“Well, not many people would be this quick to betray their own blood, is all,” Schlatt says, waving a hand. “I did kind of exile the guy.”

Fundy sits back, leaning back in his chair. “He just wasn’t a very good dad, I guess. I wanted to prove a point.”

Schlatt squints at him for a second. “Fair enough.”

“Why did you decide to exile him?” Fundy knows he’s prying, and he also knows that this is a stupid, stupid decision, both as part of the cabinet and as a spy, but he can’t help but ask.

Schlatt shrugs. “What’s he told you?”

“Uh… nothing? I didn’t even know you existed until you showed up.”

Schlatt huffs, looking strangely incensed. “We have a history, is all. Didn’t end well.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that.”

“It doesn’t much matter. It’d been years since we’d last seen each other, anyways.” He’s completely abandoned his paperwork. “But I wanted payback. And besides, when Wilbur gets that look in his eyes… if I let him stay, it wasn’t going to end well.”

Fundy hums. “Can’t argue with that.”

He wonders if this is any better. He hopes.

* * *

  
Fundy doesn’t see Wilbur again until the festival. He finds he doesn’t especially want to.

* * *

  
When Fundy cries, so shocked at the man he doesn’t recognize, Schlatt pats his shoulder and mumbles about how it’s going to be ok. Fundy wants to hug him, but doesn’t.

* * *

Fundy hates the smell of smoke. Wilbur smoked a lot, and he remembers when he was still young and he could tell when his father was having a bad day from how the smell clung to him, and he remembers hating it even then.

Schlatt has noticed. He’s sure his nose is twitching, tail flicking, and Schlatt sighs, puts out his cigarette. Sighs again.

“Well? Spit it out, please,” he says, clasping his hands. Fundy found him out on the balcony, staring out at the sky and ignoring all his work, but he finds he can’t quite blame him.

“I don’t have anything,” he says, coming to stand beside him. “Is it not enough to want to talk to my president?”

Schlatt smiles ruefully, but he doesn’t say anything more, just focuses his gaze back on the sky. “How’re you holding up, kid?”

Fundy looks to him in equal parts confusion and hesitance. He analyzes Schlatt’s expression, but after a few long moments he says, “It’s been better.”

Schlatt huffs a laugh. He seems unsure of what to say, but after what feels like an eternity he continues with, “It’s impressive, you know that?”

Fundy doesn’t say anything, not quite sure what he means.

“It’s fucking cold to leave your dad on his own, but I get it. In the beginning, you wanted to be the big hero, the spy, huh? But Tubbo had already done that job for you, and at that point, it was too late, right? And now you’re not sure what to do, but you’re still going. It’s fucking impressive, man.” He laughs, coughs a bit.

Fundy feels like his brain is short-circuiting. Schlatt _gets_ it. He feels tears welling in his eyes but pushes them back down.

“It has a lot to do with you, you know that?” He asks. Schlatt looks at him, surprised. “When you won the election, everyone was upset, but… I got to know you, and maybe you weren’t that bad.”

He never thought he’d be talking openly with the man he’d been planning to betray, but all the same it’s comforting. It’s closure.

“I just wanted to mean something. And I think this is my way of doing it.”

He pulls out the diary from his inventory, and Schlatt raises his eyebrows. The matches he used to for his cigarette sit there, and Fundy lights it, takes it to the diary. And it’s gone.

Maybe smoke isn’t that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> next up: tubbo!
> 
> (p.s.: this is your sign. to write more one-line segments.)


	3. You're a Conflicted Person, Not a Bad Person. [Tubbo]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: emeto, rather graphic alcohol withdrawal. very mild injury (bruising).

Tubbo does not betray Schlatt.

It’s not like he doesn’t plan on it, at least in the beginning. He’s hesitant, going into Schlatt’s presidency. Exiling his best friend and mentor isn’t a great opening, not for any of them.

Schlatt doesn’t do much to improve this image, not at first. He’s aggressive and mean, barking orders and shouting when things don’t go his way. Not long into his term his drinking ramps up, only serving to make matters worse.

All the same, it doesn’t take Tubbo long to start second-guessing himself. Quackity sees something in the man, saw enough to marry the guy, and Fundy was willing enough to throw away his relationship with his own father in his favor. So… Tubbo is willing to try too.

It’s hard. Schlatt denies any attempts he makes to get to know him. Maybe once or twice, he gets a celebratory pat on the back or even a kind remark if he’s lucky, but Schlatt holds him at arm’s length without fail. But Tubbo doesn’t give up. Not on people, and not on anything.

… Which is why he’s currently holding back the jewelry hanging from Schlatt’s horns while the man hacks up what seems like his entire guts into a trash can. He’s not quite sure how he got here, but it’s not exactly what he thought he’d be doing with his night.

He’d been hoping to go and visit Wilbur and Tommy tonight, but what with Wilbur’s recent turns towards insanity he’s really not sure it would be any better than this.

Schlatt groans and Tubbo helps him lay down on the office sofa. He sits down on the carpet in front.

“On your side, I don’t want you choking,” he says gently. He’s only seen Schlatt this drunk a few times before, and it never becomes any less disconcerting.

He’s not sure why he starts talking. Maybe it’s to help distract himself, maybe it’s because he wants Schlatt to know.

“When you first showed up- not when you came to visit, but when you came to campaign- you were so threatening. Wilbur was so angry you decided to show up. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him that mad before, honestly.” While he talks, he gently pulls the jewelry from Schlatt’s horns. He chuckles a bit. “You were terrifying. You seemed like a genuine threat, when you exiled Wilbur. What happened to that?”

Schlatt coughs, wet and violent, but doesn’t answer. His eyes are closed, and Tubbo’s not quite sure if he’s even conscious.

Tubbo sighs. “I mean, it’s not really like I want to see that. But you had power, and authority, and it was cool as shit.” He draws his knees to his chin. “Now you’ve just left it to the three of us, and we’re not suited to run a nation at all.”

Schlatt sighs, and when Tubbo looks at him his eyes have slid open, just barely. His ram’s pupils are unfocused. Tubbo keeps talking.

“I guess… all three of us wanted to be involved in this. Quackity wanted power, Fundy wanted control, I wanted to be important… but now that we’re here, it’s not really that great.” He sighs, running his hands over his face. “Maybe it was like that for you, too. Is that it?”

Schlatt puts a hand on his shoulder, and Tubbo looks at him, smiles. “Thanks.”

Schlatt promptly passes out.

* * *

It’s not an epiphany or anything. Schlatt is still an asshole when he’s not passed out at his desk, Quackity still shouts 24/7, and Tubbo still tries his best to get out from under everyone’s feet and stay out of the way. Just because he understands the man a bit better doesn’t make him any less of a dick.

After the shouting at the White House threatens to make him pull his hair out, he decides instead to hide away at Pogtopia for the night.

There’s a horse outside that he’s never seen before. He’s not even sure Tommy knows how to ride a horse. Whatever.

It’s only once he gets inside that he realizes. Sitting around a little fire is Tommy, Wilbur, and Technoblade. He grins.

“Techno?” He calls down to the group, and they all startle. Wilbur stands from where he was seated, looking incensed.

“Tubbo,” Techno greets as he makes his way down, giving him a small smile. Tubbo laughs.

“I didn’t even know you’d come to the server!” He exclaims. “Should’ve sent me a whisper.”

“Tubbo? Why’d you come?” Wilbur asks, eyes narrowing. The mood tangibly darkens. “Do you have anything?”

Tubbo holds up his hands placatingly. “No, I just wanted to visit, is that ok?”

Wilbur visibly bristles, hands making their way out of his pockets and into his hair. After a second, he leans forward and grabs Tubbo’s wrist, _hard._ “No, that’s not fucking ok! You put us at risk!”

He looks fucking crazy. Tubbo takes a step back, wrenching his wrist free. Thankfully, Tommy steps in.

“Woah, dude, it’s fine, it’s not like he comes very often. He knows to be careful, it’s fine. Don’t worry.” He almost seems to be saying it more to himself than Wilbur, who doesn’t look at all convinced.

“Don’t do it again,” Wilbur mutters, turning his back on the group and making his way deeper into the ravine.

Tommy sighs, visibly relaxing as the figure disappears. He shoots Tubbo an awkward smile. “Sorry. He’s been like that a bit, recently. It’ll be fine.”

Tubbo rubs his wrist with a placating smile. That’s going to bruise.

Techno, who’s been standing off the side, huffs and throws Tubbo a healing potion. He fumbles it in his hands a bit before catching it. He looks between it and Techno for a few seconds before saying, “I don’t really need this.”

The piglin shrugs. “Whatever, just take it.”

Tommy looks a bit concerned before shaking his head as if to clear it. He beckons to Tubbo. “Come on, I wanna show you Techno’s potato farm.”

Tubbo sips as they walk. He doesn’t want to drink too much, only enough to heal the bruise. He’s not _sure_ whether healing potions would work for alcohol poisoning, but he’s willing to give it up for a good cause.

“How’s the tyrant been?” Tommy asks, kicking at rocks while he walks. Tubbo chuckles.

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” When Tommy shoots him a look, he rushes to defend himself. “I mean… it’s not too bad, right now. We’re managing.”

Tommy stops in his tracks. “When did it become ‘we?’”

“No, no,” he exclaims, motioning with his hands and threatening to spill the potion. “I just mean like. Me, Fundy, and Big Q, that’s it.”

Tommy’s eyes stay narrowed for a few more seconds before he makes an angry exclamation, hands finding their ways to his head. He groans, turning away from Tubbo. Tubbo frowns, a bit concerned. “Tommy?”

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” he murmurs, whipping back around and pulling him into a hug. They stay like that for a few moments before Tommy pulls away. He motions for them to keep walking.

“Listen, Wilbur’s been fucking crazy lately. He keeps telling me I can’t trust anyone, and, like.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “I guess it kinda got to me for a minute. How are you doing? What’s it like in Manberg?”

Something pushes Tubbo to tell the truth. “It’s not too bad. I mean, Quackity and Fundy and I are basically running the country, but Schlatt’s been doing better lately.”

“What d’you mean?” Tommy asks, pulling out a loaf of bread and ripping it in half. He extends a half to Tubbo, who takes it eagerly.

“He’s drunk, like, most of the time,” Tubbo confesses quietly. “But he’s really been making an effort lately.”

“Huh,” Tommy says. He stares out at the sunset.

They’re quiet for a long, long moment, silently passing loaves of bread and apples between them.

“... Do you reckon Schlatt’s doing better than Wilbur?” He finally asks, almost whispering like he’s worried Wilbur will pop out from the shadows. He leans against a wall and wrings his hands in a nervous action.

Tubbo feels his heart stop. He stammers for a minute before he decides to be as honest as he can.

“Yes.”

* * *

“Promise me something,” Schlatt says quietly, one night. Tubbo jumps. He’d been puttering around the office while Schlatt laid on the sofa, and he hadn’t even known Schlatt was awake. When he turns around, Schlatt has pulled himself into a sitting position, his eyes strangely clear.

“What is it?” Tubbo asks nervously. Sure, it’s been months since he’s been frightened of Schlatt in any capacity, but it’s still worrying when he looks like this.

“Promise me you won’t drink. Not ever.”

Tubbo’s heart drops to his stomach. He nods, feeling strangely like he wants to cry. “I promise. Not ever.”

Schlatt nods back, chewing his lip. His ear flicks and he seems to analyze Tubbo’s expression for a few more seconds before he lays back down. Tubbo watches him for a few more minutes, listening to Schlatt’s breath even out. Every once in a while he lets out a wheeze and Tubbo stiffens again.

Once Tubbo is certain he’s asleep, he lets himself cry.

* * *

“Can we talk about the exile?”

It’s a bit of a spur of the moment decision. He and Schlatt have just finished with the paperwork and it’s reached the part of the night where Schlatt’s hands are shaking so much he’s having a hard time doing much of anything, where his eyelids have started drooping. Maybe it’s wrong of Tubbo to ask him when he’s already exhausted, but it can’t wait.

“What d’you mean?” Schlatt asks, barely tilting his head towards him. He’s staring at a spot on the desk, some sort of stain from a spilled drink.

“Um.” He fidgets with his hands a bit. “I want to let Tommy back in the country.”

That leads to a raising of the eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Not Wilbur, I won’t fight you on that one. Just Tommy. I know you don’t like him, but…” he chews his words. “I don’t think he’s safe with Wilbur.”

Schlatt seems to mull it over, and Tubbo’s not sure whether he’s thinking or out of it for a few seconds.

“Does this have something to do with your trips out of the country?”

Tubbo freezes for a long second, but after a few tense moments he regains his composure. “Um. What do you mean, sir?”

“I know you’ve been visiting them.” He catches Tubbo’s eye, strangely lucid for a man who was slurring so much a few minutes ago. He waves a shaking hand. “Well?”

Squeezing his fists, he decides to be honest. No point in pretending. “Yes. I’ve been visiting them. In the beginning, it was to betray you, I’ll admit.

But I’m on your side now. I am. Wilbur’s… He’s not doing well. And Tommy’s caught in the middle. I want to bring him here. Without Wilbur.”

Schlatt looks at him for a long moment. For once, he looks like a president.

“I’ll think about it.”

* * *

In the end, it isn’t much of a fight. Schlatt agrees, Tubbo talks to Tommy, Tommy talks to Techno, and they leave, Wilbur screaming at their heels.

Tommy’s shaking, but Schlatt and Quackity are waiting at the remains of the wall. Tubbo catches Schlatt’s eye and Schlatt fixes him with a soft expression he’s never seen before.

Tubbo grins. The president is proud.

* * *

Nothing’s perfect. Alcoholism isn’t solved overnight, and neither is a country built on nothing but pride. But sometimes, when Tommy and Tubbo are running through the White House after stealing some sort of way-too-expensive chocolate from a president, he thinks it’s ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> next up: schlatt himself!
> 
> (p.s.: you should chuck any suggestions for other fics or anything else in the comments below!)


	4. I’m Worse Than Everyone I Never Wanted to Be. [Schlatt]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: emeto (only mentions), graphic descriptions of alcohol withdrawl & a panic attack, one reference to wanting to hit someone, slight suicidal ideation. 
> 
> i'm so happy w/ this chapter, i really hope you guys like it too :).

Schlatt is not a good person.

He’s greedy, and mean, and would betray almost anyone at the slightest chance. He’s vicious, and aggressive, and generally a complete asshole to anyone and everyone he meets.

He’s picked up habits to cope with this over the years, none of them good. First it’s partying, then working out. Cigarettes hurt his throat and he hates the smell, but it works for a while. When it’s no longer enough, drinking is the constant friend.

He hates it. When he starts, it’s fun. He enjoys the lightheaded feeling and the way he doesn’t feel responsible for the horrible things he says.

It doesn’t last long. Whoever said drinking is a good way to pass the time is a fucking liar, and he can’t wait to meet them in hell.

Drinking isn’t fun. But when he doesn’t, everything hurts, he can barely open his eyes, he feels like he’s going to die. He shakes so hard he can’t sign his name on papers his cabinet extends to him, let alone read them. His heart hammers in his chest and he can’t breathe and the room spins and his muscles seize in a way that makes him feel like he’s going to die right then and there.

So he drinks. He drinks even when he can’t stand, he drinks when he can’t lift his head from his desk, he drinks even when he vomits and coughs and chokes on spit.

He drinks when Quackity yells, he drinks when Fundy looks at him in disappointment, and he drinks when Tubbo tries to reach out to him again and again.

Why can’t the kid recognize a lost cause?

* * *

Schlatt has never wanted to hit someone more.

The kid stole his fucking stash. He spent good money on those, or at least he’s pretty sure he did. He’s not too sure of anything, right now, but he knows he’s fucking angry.

He’s shaking and he feels like he’s going to pass out and he can’t quite see straight and he _has_ to make Tubbo understand, he needs that shit. It’s not _fair_. He wants to cry.

Quackity’s there and he turns to him, and everything is a blur after that.

* * *

(“I’ll do my best to help, but you’ve got to work with me, ok?”)

* * *

Schlatt knows traitors, has been one often enough to recognize the tells, and he knows at least most of the country hates him.

And even if he’s sick and drunk and half senile, he knows who’s going to betray him. Tubbo looks at him with suspicion and Fundy watches him with shifty eyes, and he knows they’re not on his side.

And it’s only really a matter of time until Quackity follows suit, and he knows it, and it’s hard not to push him away immediately.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t with any of them. It’s laziness, probably, or so he tells himself. If everyone’s going to betray him eventually, what’s the point in even trying to save himself?

* * *

  
He’s constantly surprised by Fundy. The kid is evasive but strangely honest about his spy work, and Schlatt realizes he _wants_ Schlatt to stop him. He wants Schlatt to provide a reason for him not to go back to his father.

And for once, Schlatt wants to try it. He’s never backed down from a challenge, anyways.

* * *

Schlatt does not execute Tubbo. The thought barely passes his mind, too preoccupied with the man ranting and raving in front of him. He pulls Tubbo behind him, shields him before he can even think about what he’s doing.

Fundy’s ears are pressed flat against his head as he stares at his father as he rants and raves.

The other kid, Tommy, is behind Wilbur, pulling on his arm, trying to get him to stand down. The piglin hybrid has his crossbow aimed square at Schlatt’s chest. Schlatt wants him to shoot.

Better him than these _fucking_ kids.

* * *

He pats Fundy’s shoulder as he cries. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but he’ll be damned if the kid is left without _any_ role models.

So he stays with him until sobs stop echoing around the room, and he hopes it’s good enough.

* * *

He’s no fucking role model, he thinks, as Quackity runs his hands through his greasy hair and he can’t lift his head.

* * *

His body aches, but he has a duty to fulfill. He reaches under his desk and his hand closes around nothing but air. He was certain he left a bottle there. Fuck.

His hands shake, fists opening and closing as his mind closes into a panic. His breathing quickens.

No.

His body hurts, his head hurts. He can’t breathe.

Someone’s hand rests on his back and he jerks away, falling out of his chair. As he stands his knees threaten to buckle, another jolt of pain shooting through his body. Someone cries out. Maybe he did.

His skin feels like it’s on fire. He can feel himself trembling like a leaf, every movement only causing more pain.

More hands on his shoulders, on his hands. He tries to pull away but he can barely move. There’s something wet on his cheeks. Someone’s fingers are carding through his hair, the only thing that doesn’t hurt. A fingernail runs up his horn, and he focuses on the calming motion.

His muscles spasm, and he cries out again. The grip tightens on his shoulders, and he can hear gentle shushing.

He’s sobbing, now, but he can’t bring himself to care. All that matters is the pain and the hand in his hair.

He’s not sure how long he stays like that, but as his breathing evens out, no longer hitching with each spasm, his eyes slowly open. He blinks in the brightness of the room, his office, but slowly his eyes focus. His head pounds.

His hand is hooked with someone’s, which he immediately recognizes as Quackity. He huffs, pulls away slightly from the fingers running gently up and down his horns and hair.

Quackity grins at him, and he gives him a tired barely-smile. There’s a flare of embarrassment, leftover pride from when he still had some to spare, but it’s barely there. It’s just comfort.

What has he ever done to deserve people being this nice to him?

* * *

“Thank you. For helping me.”

* * *

Tubbo’s not a pushover, anymore. He’s not sure where it happened, somewhere between festivals and spy work and having to help run a country at sixteen, but it did, and it’s impressive.

Tubbo looks him in the eye and tells him he wants his friend, and Schlatt can’t deny him, doesn’t want to, and is more than a little impressed.

* * *

Wilbur could’ve been him.

He could’ve been Wilbur.

He watches as the kids tumble back into the country, as Quackity ushers them in. He catches Tubbo’s eye and his heart swells.

He’s not fucking Wilbur.

* * *

Tubbo has left the remnants of a chocolate bar on his desk and a note signed with two names. There’s a candle from Fundy on his bedside table, and there’s a ring from Quackity around his finger.

There’s a bakery around the corner that serves the best bread he’s ever fucking tasted and there’s a castle that welcomes guests at every hour and there’s a stupid fucking cobble shack that houses the noisiest, most upbeat teenager he’s ever met. There’s a house that is never empty that belongs to the most contrarian fox that finally has his spot in the government and there’s a house he can go home to instead of crashing at his desk. There’s a country that’s flourishing and people that are too and there’s a president that’s started trying.

The kids are ok, and maybe he is too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, & for sticking w/ the fic the whole time :).
> 
> (p.s.: please let me know what you thought!)

**Author's Note:**

> here's my [ ko-fi ](https://yaoyoyoyo.tumblr.com/post/623129308189327360/i-just-finished-setting-up-a-ko-fi-please-check)!  
> here's my [ information on writing commissions ](https://yaoyoyoyo.tumblr.com/post/631112745941712896/hello-ive-finally-decided-to-officially-open)!  
> here's my [ tumblr ](https://yaoyoyoyo.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> let me know if any of the links break, and i'll do my best to fix them!  
> please leave some comments, and i'm always, always open to constructive criticism :).


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